Somebody That I Used To Know
by pirate-of-hearts
Summary: Post Big Brother-Not songfic, title's just inspired by the song. Sam's struggling with his situation with Mercedes, which is pushing him over the edge. Meanwhile, housemate Artie is conflicted about his developing feelings for Quinn. S/M and A/Q
1. Chapter 1

**Somebody That I Used To Know**

_ Set after this week's episode. This may become a multi-chapter fic, but as I have never actually managed to keep-up with updates in this past, please don't be too disappointed if the updates require some waiting. My extra-curriculars keep me on my toes a lot. Anyways, enjoy! _

_ Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. Nor do I own any of its uberly-talented-insanely-sexified cast. _

_Chapter One ~ _

_Tension?_ The faded auditorium lights filtered down across the panelled floor, where only half an hour ago he'd been mortified at booty camp yet again unwittingly via the bitingly sharp honesty of one Sue Sylvester. He should have been used to it by now, but today's comment had struck him in a very unexpected place. It wasn't that he hadn't realized that the drama with Mercedes might be visible to some of the other Glee club members. He just hadn't expected for it to be brought up publicly. It was mild though, compared to the incidents that some of the others had experienced. And it was Sue. So perhaps he had been naïve not to expect it.

Picking at a loose thread in his jeans, he examined his legs from where they hung leisurely over the edge of the stage. Swinging them back and up a few times, he was reminded of the way he had swung and coiled them for his brother and sister to ride on when they got into one of their climbing moods. In their faces he had always found innocent solace from himself. But here, in the half-lit dimness of the empty auditorium, he couldn't shake from the stale air a sense that he was crowding himself, to the point where he couldn't move. Couldn't budge. There was too much of him.

His gaze slid from his tattered pants to the soak in the absence that was drowning this place. Without the music and the companionship to combat it, McKinley's auditorium seemed to settle into an eerie silence. Mercedes was going to fly solo and discover herself in an amazing performance career. New Directions was going to win Nationals. And what would be left for him to be needed here after that? Everyone would be gone, at some university or other. And so would he. There was no point in staying here anymore. Nothing to weigh down or be weighed down by. Just drifting.

The atmosphere in this late afternoon unnerved him – it was so much like that time when he'd sensed Quinn slipping away from him. Santana had caught up with him backstage and revealed the truth, accompanied by her seductive offer. Temptation never wore such an unenthused face… looking back, it was easy to see that she'd had no real interest in him. She'd just been in it for the prospective social status of dating a quarter-back and her "impending head-cheerleader" expectations. Quinn had taken so much convincing just to consider dating him. And Kurt… well, let it suffice to say that Mercedes had been the first girl – or boy – to accept and care about him for who he was enough to date him with no inhibitions… except of course for having kept the whole thing a secret during their summer "fling". And now here she was: clearly plagued with her feelings for him, but not trusting them enough to act on them.

Was a simply functional relationship so unattainable?

There was no point in staying here… launching to his feet, Sam grudgingly made his way to the locker room. It would be time for swim practise soon. Passing by the old football locker room always flooded his veins with a sense of numbness too, but its effect was not as harsh after having just sat in an empty auditorium for half an hour. Holding his breath determinedly, he passed by the weights room where she'd walked in on him without his shirt on for the first time. The way she'd looked at him – that mixture of abashment and excitement – that had been the moment when he'd first realized the reason for her having avoided him those first few weeks after prom.

He'd done his best to respect her decision. She was right – her recent habit of pining for someone she wasn't dating and keeping secrets from the people closest to her and to herself wasn't like the Mercedes he cared about at all. Cares. _I still care about her._ And after all the drama and stress he'd put her through by first having to move away, and then by coming crashing back into her life and causing her break-up with Shane – a relationship that had seemed to be going flawlessly until he'd shown-up – he felt that he owed her all the space he could give. She needed space to breathe and grow. She needed this to revive the old Mercedes, the one who'd always been so sure of herself. How could he refute her right to claim stake in who she wanted in or out of her life?

And yet, even the cool caress of the water as it enveloped his skin couldn't hush the longing that penetrated him so deeply. Where was she now? With Kurt, hanging out maybe? Or perhaps working-out choreography with Rachel from today's booty camp assignment? Maybe.

He'd arrived at the pool early, because it was the surest way to avoid their coach's abrasive verbal abuse in response to tardiness. Much better to be safe than sorry, especially when the coach in question made Coach Sylvester look like a guest star on _My Little Pony – Friendship is Magic_. His closet bronie thoughts leant him a rare smirk, which he relished. It took a lot to smile these days. Maybe this would be a good opportunity to attempt some of the new sequence Coach had started them on last week… Gulping air, he thrust himself back into the water with a sense of renewed sureness. He was blind to the world, blind to the harsh dryness of it. Here everything was cool. He could almost numb himself to the drone of phosphorescent lighting prickling his mind.

"Sam…"

Could almost drown himself from the rough chlorine stinging his eyes.

"Sam?"

Could almost wring the damp cloak of her from his thoughts, hands fumbling to rid her of him. Almost.

"Sam."

Piercing the surface with a raw gasping for the dry air that brought life, his wild eyes flew about seeking focus. As his lungs began to shudder in their shallow contractions of breath, those still-unfocused eyes latched onto her. It was so sudden, and yet it fit so perfectly… as if the emptiness that wasted space had simply been waiting for her to paint herself in.

His lips were frozen. Quietly Sam rose to his feet, let gravity guide them back to pool's floor. Small rivulets trickled from his matted hair as he stood helplessly, his desperate lungs panting for air. And as he watched, to his remorse the picture morphed into clarity, and it was Shane who stood at the edge of the pool. Great. His wistful hallucination had been replaced by the guy who would probably become his murderer in only a few short minutes. "Oh."

"Have you got a minute, man?" Sam's lips parted, willing him to speak. A minute? After the crap he'd put Shane through – _Shane_ of all people – Sam knew he owed him much more than a minute. Guardedly he began to approach the edge of the pool. But after a second, scrutinizing glance at the intimidating figure looming above him, Sam slowly reached to pull himself out from the water.

"Yeah. Of course." Glancing down at the towel in Shane's gruff hand, he swallowed a bleak gulp, "Coach will be here soon, though, so I suggest we stay here to talk."

Shane followed his gaze and tossed him the towel. "I hear that woman's brutal."

"Yeah." Shifting his feet in the direction of the benches along the walls of the pool area, Sam lead Shane to one of the nearest and settled back against the cold, white plaster. "How much did she tell you?"

"She never kept secrets too long," Shane sighed, taking a seat next to him, "Enough."

"We're not dating, if that gives you any kind of redemption. She needs time to herself right now." The words tasted acidic in his mouth.

"That won't last too long." Shane's sad voice caught Sam by surprise. Wasn't this the guy that should be smashing his face into a wall? "I should've respected her when she told me that at the beginning of school this year. I didn't realize that she was getting over someone else… I guess she must've been lonely enough to get warn-down after a while, though."

His lips were unhinged before he could snap them shut, "I'm sorry. Really. I should never have interfered with your relationship. I know I'm not the sharpest tools, but…"

"It was a matter of time. She wasn't over you." Glancing at his watch, Shane stood. "I better clear out before your coach gets here. Just…I figured we should talk. For closure and all that."

"Thanks." As Sam watched Shane's back receded back into the depths of the hallway, his breath unhitched in a long, uninhibited sigh. He hadn't realized how much his tense state had been associated with Shane as well as with Mercedes. Thank Eywa that was over.

Why had Shane felt the need to speak to him, though? Had he really felt the need for a closure that only Sam could provide for him, too? He just hoped Mercedes wouldn't find out about this conversation… she had enough to worry about right now without the two men in her life swapping comfort.

When he got home to Artie's house (he's been staying with Artie for a while now, since everyone was taking turns hosting him) he found his friend in to be in the midst of an intense choreography workout. Apparently Sue's training was putting everyone on edge. Still, Artie's sensitivity overruled his instinctual fear.

"How're you holding up?"

Sam let out all the pent-up air that had had been tensing in his chest and released a sigh of relief, swiping two Dr. Peppers on his way over. "Coach's perspective of graceful synchronization seems to have been inspired by Greek bull leaping. No joke."

Accepting the can of soda with gratuitous hands, Artie ventured, "I was actually referring more to Sue's comment today. You know, where she kind of bashed you and Mercedes."

Of course he was. Unlike most dudes, Artie didn't seem to like beating around the bush whenever it came to the messy stuff. "Well, if there's one good thing about getting splattered with red dye 47 every day of our freakin' lives, at least we're used to public embarrassment by now."

Artie feigned cheerfulness then. He was a good friend – at least he gave it some effort. "My brother, you have been inflicted by the disease known as woman. C'mon, Halo's the savior that stayed faithful to me through all the Tina and Brittany drama. Let's get us some microwave popcorn and violence."

"Thanks man," Sam tried to smile for his friend, hoping it might convince him enough to avoid any more further questions relating to Mercedes for the moment. Maybe he needed some time t himself too. Maybe this would be good. Dr. Pepper and popcorn and Halo. And Artie. He could live with this.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two ~ Set In Motion

It was early the next morning when his phone rang. Like, way too early. 10am on a Saturday. What manipulative bastard could be shrewd enough to phone at such an indecent hour on the weekend?

Artie clenched his eyes against the phosphorescent blaring of the monitor that must've been on all night, of which he'd been blissfully unaware submerged in the deep, sweet depths of sleep. Fumbling amoungst what he imagined to be reminisces of popcorn bags and Skittles wrappers (thank Eywa his cousins hated those candies and always passed them along after Halloween; they'd turned-out to be as good as any medicine for Sam's heart) he struggled to locate first his glasses and then his phone. The latter required much more effort, as it had somehow ended-up across the room. When he finally got to answering it, the phone had switched to his voice message option, assuming he was unavailable. A suspiciously Sean-Connery-niche accent filtered across the dimly-lit clutter.

"_Artie's probably doing something nerdy, like asking his mom to cut his hair for him again because his bangs are uncooperative. He has an interview with the intergalactic senate tomorrow, so if it's urgent, you can reach him via hologram. Otherwise, simply wait for the beep. Live long and prosper!_"

Artie's head snatched away from burning holes in Sam's skull when he heard her begin to speak. Of course he knew who it was… he could decipher her instantly from the way her façade of composure coated her wavering voice, like melted chocolate on a salty pretzel stick. "Umm, Artie? I was wondering if you had any plans for this afternoon… I'm scheduled for a check-up to review my progress and it'd really mean a lot to me to have a friend there. I completely understand if you're too busy, of course. Anyways, looking forward to whatever it is you're dragging me into for skip day. And you might want to consider hiding your phone from Sam."

Artie had been wondering what Sam's outlet was when he was going through a rough patch… he should've known. But now wasn't the time to grill him. Artie had more important matters at hand… He had to call Quinn back.

Sam listened through the conversation, his smirk hidden beneath the safe shelter of the fleece throw-over that had acted as his bed the previous night. He'd been waiting for an opportunity to hear that fine piece of handiwork! But as his smudgy mind began to shake off what remained of his sleep and the pieces of Artie's conversation that were floating along the ceiling began to bounce off each other, it hit him. Wordlessly, he rose and began to gather the scattered litter of last night's festivities. Then he ducked out of the room, bolting for the kitchen with the steps flying beneath the pads of his feet, two at a time.

When Artie finally rolled into the kitchen twenty minutes later, the heavy silence hung in thick smog, palpable. Sam tossed a plate of French toast drenched in Aunt J's syrup, and Artie's nose wrinkled a little. "Where's the real stuff."

Sam shrugged, "Couldn't find it in the pantry."

"Oh," His knife scratching the plate pierced the hush of their voices with new-found assurance, and Artie sighed, "still looks good, though."

"Why her?" His back was turned, but Artie could see his hands trembling in an attempt to flip the toast. Egg splattered everywhere. "I know it's none of my business, and that I should be trying to support you too, but I just… I just don't want you getting hurt like we did."

"I know what this is," Artie's breath was coming harsher now, but his chest felt stangely calm, "I know that this is temporary, Sam. It's the chair and not me that she's friends with. I know how that works."

Sam turned to face him, and the egg oozing down his faded blue t-shirt couldn't distract from the soft, puffy pink around his eyes. Had he slept at all last night? "You just deserve better than that…"

"I know," Artie replied simply, "but I'm not getting any better than that. Not for now, at least. So please… can't I just enjoy what little female companionship I have?"

With a shrug, Sam returned to his breakfast, which was beginning to resemble dog food. "What you two do is your business. Just be careful."

With that they returned to their silence. After a while they began to recap on the previous night's Halo escapades, and began to relax again. The phantom of Quinn hanging over them slowly melted into the pastel green of the wallpaper, where they had soaked her into sub consciousness.

Sam was on his way back from dropping Artie off at the hospital when the caffeine cravings hit him. After Rachel's discovery that there had been studies supporting the theory that caffeine scars one's vocal chords, she'd managed to convince Mr. Schue to ban the consumption of coffee and soft drinks. Apparently it was of no consequence to them that at least half the club was suffering withdrawal.

Of course the rule was rarely observed – how many cans of pop had he and Artie alone drank in the last 48 hours? – but Rachel's incessant surveillance of The Bean had made perk coffee a difficult novelty to come by in Lima. Peering over the dashboard, he noted that neither hers nor Finn's vehicle had been parked in front of the quaint little shop. Surely it wouldn't hurt…

The familiar mirth of the bell as he entered ushered him into the buzzing café with a renewed sense of comfort. It felt natural to be back here… safe. Perhaps here he could finally settle back into his skin... Peering down into the glass case, he spotted a macadamia cookie that looked especially appetizing. While he usually kept himself under a strict dietary regulation due to the needs of his vanity, the occasional weekend indulgence couldn't hurt…

He was about to reach for it when he heard his name being murmured under someone's breath. He turned with a start to the girl behind the counter. How could he not have noticed? He must have been wrapped in too many layers of nostalgia. "Isn't it kind of risky to be working at a coffee shop when there's a New Directions ban on caffeine?"

Her eyes seemed mute; their half-lidded gaze startled in a mess of tangles baby bird's wings, tumbling from the nest, "Isn't it kind of risky to be eyeing macadamia crispers when you're obsessed with your six pack?"

She must have realized that the words had stung him deeper than she'd meant for them to, because she quickly retreated to, "It's for college… I'm staying behind an extra year to work so that I can head to the NYADA." Reaching for the cookie with a skillful swipe, she tucked it away in a crinkly brown paper bag, then turned to the matter of fixing him with his usually coffee order. "Besides, you know how I like to get my rebel on. Is it still one shot toffee and two sugar, no cream?"

"Yeah," he sighed, not bothering to ask why she remembered. He knew why she hung on to certain things and not others. "SO you're planning on joining up with Kurt and Rachel after a fifth year here in Lima?"

"Could be worse," she sighed, "That's 2.75"

He didn't hang about after that. For one thing, she was at work, and it was busy. And for another, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear about her plans right now. Especially when they were plans he could never see himself fitting into.

It wasn't until he'd settled on the couch with a worn-out copy of Fahrenheit 451 clutched to his chest, when his eyes travelled to the coffee table, to the crinkled paper bag and he realized that she hadn't charged him for the cookie.


End file.
